


36 Questions

by Stone_Heart



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempt at Humor, Bad Parenting, Confident Katsuki Yuuri, Emotional Manipulation, Emotionally Repressed, Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Marriage, Plot, Relationship Problems, Sad, Sad Katsuki Yuuri, Some Humor, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tragedy, Victor Nikiforov is Extra, fake identity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-02-12 23:17:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12970587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stone_Heart/pseuds/Stone_Heart
Summary: Victor Nikiforov - a man who has lied to his husband for the last three years - attempts to bring his marriage back from the brink of divorce using 36 revealing questions designed to make strangers fall in love.





	1. Act 1 - Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is directly inspired by the podcast ‘36 Questions’. Please, if you like this, check it out. It's a musical, and I've fallen in love with it.

In retrospect, he had always been a shitty person.

“My name is - Victor Nikiforov, and…” when did saying his name take so much out of him? He had worn his mask for long enough; it felt like it was supposed to be real. Ivan’s life had become his, and now that the walls had come crashing down, he barely knew where he sat.

It took time, and a little bit of scrubbing to peel back his layers.

Right- “And I have been lying to my husband since the moment I met him!” his hands tightened over the steering wheel. He stared out at the oil slick road, rain coming down in sheets. Leaning over, he took a deep breath, and continued. “I’m going on the record now. To make this right.” He nodded at his phone in determination, turning his eyes back on the road.

“To remember.” He murmured. The phone buzzed in response a moment later, a small orange battery flickering on the screen. With a sigh, “I left my charger at the airport, so-“ he shook his head, a bitter smile spreading across his face. “It’s 6:43, and I don’t have much time before the GPS cuts out-“

“ _-Your destination is on the right-_ “ the phone blared out, making him jump back.

“Crap-“ he jerked, car swerving wildly across the road. Screeching, he tore the wheel the other way, the car rattling as he squeezed down on the break. It jumped, stuttering, then with a soft _pooft_ came to a stop.

So much for the element of surprise.

Breathing hard, he rested his head on the wheel, waiting for his heart to calm. The rain didn’t seem to give a damn, raging down even harder than before. He tried to turn on the radio, but the only thing that came through was something barely audible through all the static.

This place was in the middle of nowhere. There was literally nothing out here. He hadn’t passed another car for miles. If he had died out here, they wouldn’t have found his body for weeks. He’d die on the way to his almost-ex husband, and it would be all his fault.

“Okay,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief. He could see the house from here. It was an old house, classical Japanese style. It was surrounded in green, only the tip of the roof poking out from the trees. Quickly, he checked to see if the envelope was still in his pocket.

Peaceful. Remote. Especially if you’ve just found out your husband has been lying about his identity for the last three years.

It sounded like there was noise inside, something like drilling? Perhaps Yuuri hadn’t heard him. That made it sound like he was setting a trap. He wasn’t, of course not. This was just a friendly trip. To salvage the most important relationship of his life. Yes, that was it!

All too soon, he came to the door. All he needed to do was knock.

With a deep breath, he knocked. Once, then twice. Again.

“Yuuri!” he called out, cringing. “I can hear you on the other side of the door.” He waited.

Damn. “You might as well just open it!” Victor pursed his lips. “Or, you can keep me on the hook! Tough, but fair. I’m, uh…” he pulled out the envelope in his pocket, wiggling it underneath the door. “I gave you something!” With a hopeful pause, he added. “Let me know when you’ve opened it! Just gonna… stare at these trees…”

There wasn’t a sound from the other side. There was suddenly a buzzing in the air, loud in his ears. A sharp prick come through his thigh, and he slapped. Shoot, mosquitoes.

“Brilliant!” he cried, staring almost condescendingly at door. “Okay, I guess there’s two options! Either you’re my husband, Yuuri Katsuki, or-“ he said. “You’re a stranger in his family home. Either way, the humane thing to do is to let me in!” He groaned, and slapped at another mosquito directly on his neck. “Also, I have to pee!”

Victor waited, growing colder. He was thankful for the small roof before the door. It was the only thing keeping him from freezing into a hypocritical human icicle.

“Well, whoever you are,” he said, leaning up against the door. “You share a lot in common with my husband.” His husband. Even saying that made his heart quicken. “Yuuri, that’s his name. He’s pretty great.” He smiled, pressing his cheek against the wood.

Those two weeks had been long, arduous. One moment they’d been screaming at each other, the next Yuuri had taken a plane ticket home. Straight back to his childhood home in his nearly abandoned town. He had spent days fretting before he had thought to call Yuuri’s parents.

Their short replies and clipped tones gave him all the evidence he needed. Begging Chris to take care of Makkachin while they were gone, he hadn’t even packed a suitcase. He took the next flight from New Orleans to Los Angeles, then to Kyushu Saga International Airport. After twenty-two hours in the air, running on enough coffee to poison him, he was about ready to drop.

Dark bruises made a home under his eyes. His face felt like the slip of rubber, and his muscles protested from little sleep. He had stopped at an inn before driving. Victor wasn’t stupid. Yuuri wasn’t going anywhere. He had already gone all the way back home to avoid him.

“And he isn’t the kind of guy to leave his husband outside!” He shouted.

Yuuri was trying to let him go. It hurt to think of the night when he had found out Ivan was a lie. All those bottles of dye he’d found over the years, the lack of childhood photos and apparent lack of memories. All the pieces fit, and the picture hadn’t been pretty.

But who the hell had ever said the truth needed to be pretty.

The question came haltingly; stuttering like Yuuri hadn’t done in years. Ivan crumbled in a matter of seconds, despite how he had clung so hard to the pieces. Because he had clung so hard, perhaps. Stripped of his cover, he saw his life flash before his eyes. Victor had thought it was a myth. It hadn’t happened the first time he had almost died. But every lie, the life they had made together in New Orleans, he had seen it all.

He didn’t blame Yuuri. There were a thousand reasons not to trust him, whoever he was now. Whatever it was worth, he had no idea who he was himself. That had been tucked away, swept under the rug as long as it was inconvenient.

But this was the first time in his life that he was sure telling the truth would be worth it. If explaining himself, if telling the whole truth and nothing else would make Yuuri understand why, then it would be worth it. He deserved to know the truth, learn about the real ‘him’. Understand the person he was trying his damnedest to let go.

The husband he knew would give him a chance.

“I won’t leave until you open this door.” He murmured. Moaning, he slapped uselessly at the mosquitoes nibbling his exposed thighs. “There are mosquitoes everywhere. I think they’re eating me alive.”

Slowly, the door creaked open. He straightened himself, coming off of the door. There was a sigh, a long sigh, and Victor barely managed to keep the smile off his face as he heard, “I’m only letting you in so you don’t get eaten alive.”

“So, you’re saying I won’t get eaten alive inside?” He said, turning. Oh, it was good to see his face. Relief filled him, just seeing his features, the shape of his nose. The tired eyes, a frown on his lips. A slope made up from his shoulders.

Of course, it hadn’t only been him suffering.

He held a drill at his side, finger on the trigger.

“Not by mosquitoes,” he replied, dryly. Yuuri turned, walking back inside, but the door stood wide open. “Close the door behind you-“

“Hi, by the way- oh-“ Yuuri didn’t even look at him, walking away. He took off his shoes and stood, alone, shuffling his feet. The old house was as he remembered, only a little wear bearing its age. The drill started up again, making the floor rumble. “So you’re still upset, which makes perfect sense…” He murmured under his breath.

“I can hear you!” Called Yuuri over the racket, voice clear through the paper walls. Victor frowned, and decided to follow him.

“Yeah, well I’m-“ a tarp swung out from above, water coming down his arms as he struggled with it. “- being violated by a sheet.” The letter had been left on the kotatsu, and Victor leaned down to pocket it.

The drill paused, whimpering echoing down the hallway. “Shh, calm down buddy- he’ll be gone soon-“

“Who are you talking too?” Trying to peak his head around the door, Yuuri stood, blocking his view.

“I’ll ask the questions.” He crossed his arms. “What are you doing here?” A small nose wriggled from between Yuuri’s legs, a mop of brown fur tumbling out into the hallway. His smile stretched from ear to ear.

“Is that a puppy?!” He couldn’t help reaching down to pet the little pup, scratching underneath his chin. Yuuri cleared his throat, but the pup gave no notice, flopping over to reveal its belly for more pats. “Awww, look at you! It’s been two weeks and you’ve already bought a dog?”

“Yes.” Said Yuuri, adjusting his glasses. “He doesn’t have a name yet-“

“Aren’t you a good pupper!-“

“- and he’s kind of my best friend at the moment – but, ugh- that’s not the point.” He sighed. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

He looked up, saw the stressed line of his body. “That’s why I’m here. That’s why I have these- can you put the drill down, it’s a little intimidating.”

“Do you know what you’ve done? Like, do you actually know?” A hand ran down over his face. “Or have you lied to yourself so much you’ve developed selective memory.”

“Let’s see if I remember. If I remember correctly, I gave you a fake name when we met, and I continued to use that name while we dating, then as we got married-“

“It’s more than just a fake name!” He stressed. “You think I care about a fake name?!”

“Yes!” Cried Victor.

Yuuri’s cheeks brightened, and he took in a breath. His eyes tightened. “Well, you’re right, I do. But I care more about the fact that I asked you to tell me exactly who you were, and you didn’t answer at all, which makes you more than just someone who lied. It makes you a liar.”

Victor gave the pup one last tummy scratch before standing. “Okay.”

Yuuri glared. “You’re not taking me seriously at all are you?!”

“I am!” he held up his hands in mock surrender. “I am I swear-!”

“Ivan- argh, Victor you-“

The pup began to howl, short high pitched _woaw woaw woaw_ moans between them. He lifted his small paws, jumping up at Victor’s leg, scratching with even smaller puppy claws. With one last _woaw?_ , he cocked his head, blinking.

“That is a _really_ cute dog.”

“I know, he’s the best.”

“Where did you get him from?” Yuuri leaned down, picking him up. He cradled him like a baby, eyes fixed on Victor. Yuuri sighed.

“My parents are out. They thought I needed some space to myself, but it became a little boring.” The puppy lay back in his arms, flopping like a ragdoll. “He loves sashimi and sleeping, and hates taking a bath. But you know what?”

“What?” He replied, cocking his head. Maybe if he made puppy eyes too, Yuuri would be just as inclined to cradle him like that. Stupid idea-

“I feel like I don’t have to explain myself since you refuse to do even the bare minimum for me-“

“Hey- no-“

“-like tell me your real name- where were you born- do you need food and sleep to function or are you just some sort of robot with no compassion for others-?”

“I’m not judging you for getting a dog! He’s really cute.”

“He is very cute!” Cried Yuuri angrily.

“And whatever gets you through this stressful time, Yuuri, I’m all for it. I only came out here to ask you for _one thing._ ”

“ _One_ thing?” He stated, brows creasing. The sound of crashing came only seconds later. Yuuri went tense, turning slowly to the mess behind him.

“What-?”

“That- was the shelf I just installed-“ the books had tumbled out, scattering all over the floor. The pup scrambled out of his arms, leaping to discover what these strange book things were. Victor peaked over his shoulder.

The shelf had torn out of the wall, a hole the size of a pizza right in the center. Yuuri didn’t even have the energy to look disappointed.

“I didn’t know you were renovating!” Said Victor cheerfully. The exposed wall began to spark, electrical wires like veins across the wall. A scent like burnt plastic began to fill the air. “Ah- you smell smoke?”

All of a sudden, a fire started up. Victor fell back, and Yuuri growled, grabbing what looked like an antique scroll. He hit the fire repeatedly, determined. It died out, fizzing as black smoke choked the air.

“Poor scroll.” Commented Victor, eyes wide.

“Oh!” He cried, turning to read the scroll. He let out a moan, tipping his head back. “Oh dear, sorry grandma-“

“Shouldn’t you turn off the electrical?”

“Yep.” He followed Yuuri through the house. “Nothing is going right- oh, and renovating is a bit…”

“Do your parents know?”

“It’s not renovating!” He said, shrugging. “Its- a strong word. Besides, all I wanted to do was fix the light bulb. It kept flickering, and eventually, I had to fix it. But it turned out there was an electrical problem. Then-“ his lips tightened. “I went digging around for the problem, and then I found black mold in the walls. The rain had been getting in – that’s why the tarp is there - and then while I was digging around, I found mouse tunnels, so- I had to fill those in with concrete-“ he sucked in a breath, “But my neighbor gave me bad cement that didn’t stick, and now everything is all screwed up because I tried to fix one thing!?” Yuuri let out a hard sigh. Victor reached for him, pulling back at the last second.

“It’s lovely,” he said. “That you’re fixing up this old house. Your family would appreciate it, but-“ he leaned a little closer. “Don’t you think you’re obsessing over things you can't control? You know, this isn’t a good distraction if you're trying to stop thinking about your feelings for me-“

Yuuri stared at him like he was about to explode. “You’re unbelievable…”

“It’s okay,” he said, leaning in. “You can admit it, that you’re just doing all this to distract yourself. I won’t blame you-“

“-you need to stop before I- I-“

“Hit me?” he pouted. “Oh, I really won’t mind-“

“Can you stop- just listen- stay on your side of the room!” He shook his head. “You can’t even respect my need to be alone- look we can talk this out, but you need to stop being – like this!”

Victor allowed himself to smile.

Bingo.

“After tonight, you never need to hear from me again- if that’s what you want.” He stressed, begging with his eyes. He pulled out the envelope from his pocket, holding it out for his husband. “Everything we need to fix our marriage is in the envelope. I’m asking for one chance.”

It would be the first thing they did together. Ever since Yuuri had left without saying a word, and he had found out Ivan wasn’t who he had thought he was.

Victor swallowed as Yuuri took it, scrutinizing it.

He knew, that it could also be the last.


	2. Act 1 - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His expression was fixed, thumb twitching over the plastic cover. “Victor Nikiforov.” He murmured. There he was, the flop of silver hair, the brightness in his cheeks. He wasn’t smiling, but you could have seen the twinkle in his eye. “It really is you, isn’t it…”
> 
> He didn’t bother responding.
> 
> It had been years since he was that fifteen year old that had thrown it all away. The fame. The stupidity. The life of lies he swore he’d never go back to.
> 
> Now, look where he was. Once more, trying to mend over the cracks.

He pulled open the envelope, and frowned.

“This?” he asked, holding out the contents. “A matchbox, and a document?”

“Oh, just – shake it.” A ring flew out the box. Yuuri leaned down, picked it up, and frowned.

“My wedding band.”

“Yep!” He nodded. “I thought you might miss it.”

After the fight, he had found it on the kitchen counter. This was because Yuuri was a total drama queen, who thought leaving his wedding ring behind actually meant anything.

Yuuri gave him a dry look, and opened the document.

“-the… experimental generation of interpersonal closeness procedure produced some preliminary findings…” he looked puzzled, and placed the document down on the table. “My wedding ring, a matchbox and a scientific paper.” He looked almost skeptical for a moment, like he could hardly believe he was entertaining this.

“Go on!” he said, pushing the paper towards him. “Read on!”

Despite the look of frustration, he picked up the document, and flipped through the pages. His eyes widened when he realized what he was looking at.

“Oh.” His eyebrows lifted. “I get it.” He nodded. “The thirty-six questions.”

“The thirty-six questions.”

“Well,” he adjusted his glasses. “It’s definitely a poetic gesture. We fell in love the first time. Why wouldn’t it work twice?”

“Just you wait – the gesture isn’t over yet!” He pulled out the rest of the documents, piling them in a heap on the table. He was glad to be rid of it. Those papers had been digging into his side for the last hour.

“Fantastic.”

“And- I knew it would be tough for you to move forward-“ even at this he could see the man starting to grind his teeth. “Without first moving on. Which is why you have the book of matches, and I have this.” Victor held up the papers.

“What exactly is that?”

“I have in my hand,” he said, grinning. “Tied together by a simple rubber band – every document I forged over the past three years in order to be Ivan Bolshov. I brought these here because I would like you – Yuuri Katsuki – to be the person who sets _everything_ that is and was Ivan Bolshov, on fire.”

Yuuri squinted at him, and came closer. For a moment, Victor thought he was going to hug him, but he tugged something from the bundle.

“So you want me to burn your Starbucks Reward card?” His lip quirked.

“It’s what it signifies, Yuuri!” He groaned, and tugged forward the garbage tin. It was empty, so he tossed out the bag, and tossed in his papers. His heart twisted painfully as he threw his Starbucks card in with the rest. He pulled out a bottle, and started to spray the liquid into the can.

“Where did you get that lighter fluid- screw it, I don’t even care.“

“See, you don’t even need to put that many matches it!” He gave the bottle one last squirt, and placed it back on the floor. Victor shifted it, so that the can was between them. “So!” he dusted his hands off. “All you need to do is light a match, and drop it in.”

The apprehension on his face grew. “That’s all I have to do?”

“Yes, that’s all you have to do.”

“Burn your documents for you.”

He still didn’t understand. “Burn my documents for _us_! Here-“ he took the box from Yuuri’s hands, trying not to focus on the brush of his fingers. “I’ll even light the match for you!” With a shake, he held out a match in his palm. “All you have to do it drop it in.”

Yuuri stared at the match, incredulous. “Why is it so important I burn your documents?”

“It’s not!” He insisted. “But it’s important that we burn them together.” Victor lifted the match, and struck. He held it out, watching it burn bright white against his vision. When he blinked, it left a metallic stain on his retina.

Yuuri took it, and gave it a long, sad look. Something in him; it boiled under the surface. He could throw it away, scream at him to leave.

But he hadn’t done that. So Victor had to believe that there was some kind of chance.

“Oh, it burned out-“

“Here,” Yuuri tossed the burnt out match into the trash can. Gingerly, he took the box, and pulled out another match.

“Goodbye, Ivan,” he said, biting his lip in-between his words as he lit the match. It flared to life, burning far too close to his fingers. Victor watched him silently as he dropped it, crossing his arms. He stood back as the papers caught fire, crackling in protest.

Slowly, the whole thing began to burn. Victor pulled out the rest of the papers, and began to throw them in. He worked down to the last file, and passed it to Yuuri. Warily, the man took it from him, but didn’t make to throw it in.

“This is ridiculous.” Said Yuuri, focused on the flame. He looked dangerously close to walking away.

“Why?” He said, trying to read his husband.

“You made him up, not me. Ivan Bolshov was imaginary.”

“Which is why we’re doing this!”

“I shouldn’t be part of this.” He said, frowning. His shoulders were hunched, like he was trying to huddle away.

“It was more collaborative than you remember.”

“All I want Is the truth. Why did you lie to me?” Yuuri said, frowning. He shivered, shame poisoning his insides. “And why does Ivan Bolshov exist in the first place?” Victor chewed on the inside of his cheek.

If only Yuuri knew how many times he had asked that himself…

Back then, almost four years ago. That was a long time ago. A long four years of hiding, of stashing his memories, of making up the past and lying.

The person he was when they met- he was ashamed. Deeply ashamed of who he was, ashamed of what he had become over the years. Victor could be someone else – without all his scars and memories.

When he had seen that smile, he couldn’t resist. He told a tale of the person he could’ve been, the person he wanted to be. Just for an afternoon, for the length of a cup of coffee, he could be Ivan. That’s what he had told himself, when the other man had smiled at him from behind those glasses.

 A man who had never done the things Victor had. The thirty-six questions Yuuri had brought along with him, it let him build up a history, a past unmarred. Details that matched a person called Ivan.

Ivan was real to Yuuri. He didn’t expect Yuuri to understand perfectly. There was something good about throwing off his past. He loved the idea of Ivan, the moments where he could pull on the mask with ease.

But it was time to bury him.

There was something about the ritual of setting something on fire.

It’s a way of saying the past belongs in memory. Every culture burned things. The Vikings did it to honor their dead. Sending them out on a boat, then setting them on fire. Seemed fitting, he thought, as smoke started to fill the kitchen.

“Please?” His heart twisted as Yuuri grabbed the match.

“Okay.” Yuuri lit the match, sure as he set the file ablaze, eyes scorching. “What’s done is done.” He tossed the file. “Rip, Ivan.” For a moment, his eyes hardened, and he took a deep breath. The line of his shoulders broke, softening in the light of the burnt lies.

It was a win for honesty.

“Rip.” He nodded.

Then, Yuuri let out a cough. He blinked, tears budding in his eyes. “Wow, that thing is really roaring,” he placed his arm over his mouth as the smoke gathered.

“Yeah,” the plastic cards had started to burn, stench thick and prickly. The next breath he took made him dizzy, and he covered his mouth with his sleeve. “I put a lot a lighter fluid in.” Now he was coughing, and he stepped back from the tin as Yuuri ran to open the windows. “Is that smoke going to be a problem?”

“No-“ he shoved open the window. “None of the fire alarms work. Can you help me take this outside?”

“Sure,” they lifted the tin on each side. The top was only warm to the touch, and it was light, so they took it outside into the driveway. The rain came down over their shoulders, and the fire hissed in protest before it was snuffed. A trail of black smoke seeped into the darkening orange sky. They stood on the deck, watching.

“That’s that.” Said Victor. “Scattering me into the wind. A new life- reborn from the ashes.”

“Or,” said Yuuri, clearing his throat. “It would be great to have this place _not_ smell like smoke when my parents get back.”

“Right.” He nodded. That did make a little more sense. “So,” he said, leaning forward. “How do you feel?”

“Sad.” He sighed, like the words had cracked him a little. “And stupid,” he admitted, with a shrug.

“Me too-”

“Especially since I just made it impossible for you to leave, because of course, I would do that-“ the anger in his voice, it wasn’t even directed toward Victor. It was towards himself.

“What do you mean?” He wanted to reach over, brush the tension from his shoulders. He knew how to, he had been allowed to help before.

“You have no identifying documents now!” Yuuri exclaimed. “How are you supposed to get on a plane, or rent a house or…” he trailed off. A hand wiped over his eyes, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. The puppy, clearly now an expert at this, pattered from the doorway to Yuri’s leg. He licked his ankle with his small pink tongue. “Come on, buddy.” Yuuri leaned down, and rubbed his head. “Let’s go back inside.”

“I have my passport.” Victor spluttered.

With a curious, somewhat confused expression, Yuuri looked up. “You… do?”

“Yeah!” He nodded. “It’s in the car.”

“Oh.”

“Do you… want to see it?” Yuuri’s eyes flickered.

“What’s the name on it?”

“My legal name.” Victor’s heart skipped. The other man looked so strange. He had never seen this on him before. Apprehension. Hope, perhaps. Something bitter, deeper in him that Victor barely caught a glimpse of before it was hidden away again.

Hurt.

“Victor Nikiforov.”

“Yes,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Victor Nikiforov.”

Yuuri looked off into the distance, then back at him. Like he was checking that he was still there. The far-off look hadn’t disappeared. Victor wished he could read him, but all of his defenses were up.

It was his job then, to convince him that he didn’t need those walls.

“Do you want to meet Victor?”

Yuuri swallowed. “I think… it would be nice to just – see the document with your name on it.”

“Totally.” He said, smiling. “Totally, that’s – great.”

Yuuri’s jaw tightened. He brushed back the pupper’s curls, and smiled. “Alright, buddy, we’re stepping out for a bit.” Lifting the puppy, he put it back inside, and touched the door handle. “Try not to tear the place apart, okay?”

Victor felt his heart clench. This level of cute was probably toxic.

They walked up the driveway, rain soaking into his clothes. Victor was already regretting not bringing spare clothing-

“I can’t believe I’m doing this-“ he let out a hard sigh. “I should not be entertaining this, I know that.”

“Why do you know that?”

“Because it’s pointless.” Yuuri looked dejected.

“Okay… it’s pointless.” Victor raised an eyebrow. “How is it pointless?”

“It’s pointless because I’m going to see your passport with your real name on it.” His lips hardened into a line. “With a picture taken before we met. I’m going to see proof that you are the long lost Victor Nikiforov. Then what?”

“Then we do the thirty-six questions.”

“Like a couple of strangers?” Yuuri’s eyes widened. Hurt broke through his next sentence. “We just pretend you didn’t lie to me for three years, Victor?”

Victor huffed. “We don’t pretend anything! If you do the thirty-six questions with me, you’ll be able to see me for who I really am.” The car was close now. Only a few steps away.

“I don’t have thirty-six questions. I have _one_. Why did you do it?”

He sucked in a breath. It tasted like oak, trees drinking in the water from above. He couldn’t be angry at Yuuri. He could only see it from his point of view. “And that one question has a thousand answers. You-“ he coughed, almost in disbelief. “What you are asking is for me to explain why I made a split second decision in the heat of the moment when I met you!” He threw out his hands. “That’s my life!” Yuuri frowned, still staring as through his glasses. “It’s me,” Victor said, quieter.

This was who the real long lost Victor Nikiforov was. A mess of a person, barely able to make it a day without lying or cheating or just being an awful person in general. The fact that he had landed with a man like Yuuri was unbelievable in itself, considering how fragile he was beneath his mask. “Nice to meet you,” Victor said, and pulled open the door.

They clambered into the back seat, sealing the door shut again. Victor reached into the front compartment, and pulled a small bag. There was an energy in the air as Yuuri reached inside, and flipped open the little book.

His expression was fixed, thumb twitching over the plastic cover. “Victor Nikiforov.” He murmured. There he was, the flop of silver hair, the brightness in his cheeks. He wasn’t smiling, but you could have seen the twinkle in his eye. “It really is you, isn’t it…”

He didn’t bother responding.

It had been years since he was that fifteen year old that had thrown it all away. The fame. The stupidity. The life of lies he swore he’d never go back to.

Now, look where he was. Once more, trying to mend over the cracks.

“You got this in St Petersburg. I didn’t know you were from St Petersburg.”

“I renewed this a couple months before I met you,” he said, pointing. “I wouldn’t have gone back for any other reason.” Not that Yuuri had any reason to believe he was telling the truth. “But! We’re getting off track. Yuuri Katsuki,” he looked up at his name. “Answer me honestly.” Then, he smiled. “Right now, given the choice of anyone in the world, who would you want over as a dinner guest?”

Yuuri blinked, then started to laugh. “You’re trying to trick me!”

“I just asked you a question!”

“No!” Yuuri choked back the laughter. “That was the question! The first question of thirty-six, and no – I’m not answering it.”

“Why not!?” he scoffed. “Oh, so you don’t want me to know the truth?”

“Ah-“

“Anyone in the world, your house, dinner.” He shrugged. “Anyone. Get to know each other. Spill all. So,” he crossed his arms. “Who would it be?”

“I don’t have to answer this!” he spluttered. Yuuri threw open the door, and stepped out into the rain. Victor followed him, scrambling onto the grass.

“I mean, you’re basically already telling me who it would be by not answering-“

“Evgeni Plushenko.”

“Wrong!” Yuuri paused. He was balancing, the thin line between anger and wanting to burst out laughing. “Who would it be, Yuuri? Anyone in the world…”

Yuuri’s eyes burned into his. He stepped further back, running a hand over his face. A short hiss came from between his teeth, and he bent over, breathing hard. Victor watched him, his shaky steps out further into the grass.

Yuuri leaned his head back, and let out a long, frustrated scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't have anyone read this over, so there might be errors. There are probably errors. I'll fix them up as I see them DX


	3. Act 1 - Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding out your husband is a serial liar, and had been lying to you for as long as you have known each other is a lot like finding out that someone had died.
> 
> Right before his eyes, Ivan had died, and had slipped into this stranger’s skin.
> 
> Wait, it gets better.
> 
> Then, you find out this stranger is that skater you used to be a fan of. The one that had disappeared at the age of fifteen, the very embodiment of sexy to your adolescent mind – the one that basically made you realize how gay you actually were. Turns out, you’ve been married to this guy, for the last three years without knowing.
> 
> Without building the dots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This is a month later, but this new year has been BUSY! Luckily though, I should be able to do weekly updates for y'all so stay tuned!
> 
> Enjoy!

Finding out your husband is a serial liar, and had been lying to you for as long as you have known each other is a lot like finding out that someone had died.

Right before his eyes, Ivan had died and had slipped into this stranger’s skin.

Wait, it gets better.

Then, you find out this stranger is that skater you used to be a fan of. The one that had disappeared at the age of fifteen, the very embodiment of sexy to your adolescent mind – the one that basically made you realize how gay you actually were. Turns out, you’ve been married to this guy, for the last three years without knowing.

Without building the dots.

Yep.

He remembered the first date. He was sweating, nervous. The hot, blaring summer of New Orleans had him burning through his shirt.

Yuuri was nervous to his core, unsure of himself. This man, he smiled like everything was fine. He reminded Yuuri of something, of someone, but he couldn’t quite figure it out. Something in his curved smile, the airy confident voice. The twist of his hands around a cup of coffee, and the brightness of his eyes. It all had him scrambling.

In a nervous stammer, he pulled out the questions. Bad at dates, bad at speaking in general, they had given him a foot to stand on. He didn’t need to think about what to say. Just speak his mind, the questions said, and it would work.

If it didn’t work out, he didn’t even know what he was going to do. He was in his mid-twenties, still the same blushing virgin he had been for years. Phichit had tried to help, but he was too awkward. Too much to deal with. Too much in his shell. Who had the patience to deal with all that? Boyfriends didn’t want to help you through an anxiety attack, or stay with him when it felt too hard to go outside.

Ivan smiled at him, but didn’t expect perfection. He kissed him, taught him how to hold hands without turning into a clammy mess. Clutching his palms, not caring about how sweaty they were.

The first time he had a panic attack, he hadn’t run away.

And all Yuuri could wonder was why this man had decided this was worth it. Why he had taken on this responsibility, this burden.

Was it a joke, at first? See how far he could go with this ridiculous, barely together person? Was it because he was a fan of the long lost Victor Nikiforov? Because it was funny? This whole thing sounded like one bad punchline after another, without even enough space to recover before another was flung his way.

Because when it had come to the first question, that was what he had said.

“You probably don’t know him,” he babbled, unable to even look at the man in front of him. “He was a figure skater. When I was a teenager, I was obsessed with him. I thought he would become one of the greats.”

Ivan’s brown fringe covered his eyes. “And?” he said, smiling. “What happened? You said _was_.”

“He disappeared. After winning the Junior Grand Prix, he just…” Yuuri murmured. “There were all these forms online. Kind of conspiracy websites, I guess? They had all these theories about what had really happened to him. Like he had been murdered or something…”

“Did they find him?”

“No,” Yuuri shook his head. “It was as though he had just vanished from the face of the earth. I kept his posters for a few years, but after a while…” he trailed off.

“And,” Ivan stirred his coffee. “What do _you_ think happened to him?” he purred.

“I don’t think he died.” Said Yuuri. “His parents, they didn’t even call the police. At least, I don’t think. There was no investigation, nothing.” Ivan leaned on his hand, looking up at him. “I think…” Yuuri said, mouth drying. “That he became sick of it. Of being in the spotlight. He was like this… star that you couldn’t help but stare at.” His tongue came out, wetting his lips. “You couldn’t look away, even if you wanted to. He was unbelievable.”

“Unbelievable…” murmured Ivan, gaze unwavering.

Now, all he wanted to do was push that away. How arrogant did you have to be, just to sit there while this stranger said all this, right in front of you? How much of an asshole did you have to be, to sit in this lie for nearly four years?

That’s why it infuriated him, how the answer to question one was still the same. However, now it was for entirely different reasons.

Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?

Victor Nikiforov.

He dug his fingernails into his legs. It could be anyone in the world, anyone, and all he wanted to do was sit down with his supposed-to-be husband. To talk, without all the lies. Without the vulnerability being one-sided. To actually spill all, without it all being a joke.

The real Victor Nikiforov. If that even exists.

Maybe he could find out the truth if he dug hard enough. Who are you? Why are you living a lie? He could only see that leading to a fight. It had, back in New Orleans. When he had gone rummaging through the bathroom cabinets. When he had searched Victor Nikiforov, and felt the slow, creeping horror as he realized the truth.

As soon as he compared their faces, as soon as he had seen them side by side, it had made sense. Ivan didn’t have any childhood photos. He didn’t contact his parents, he didn’t talk about his past. Each little red flag, he had missed them individually. But together, it had been too much to ignore.

Was the truth, the real truth, really all that terrible? What had Victor been trying to hide from him? Why had he even needed to lie? There was no way to know what he would’ve done if he had known it was Victor, but he couldn’t even rationalize lying for three years. It didn’t even make sense to him.

He wanted to sit across him, and talk until it all came together. No drama, and once he was done, he wanted Victor to go. Send him into the night.

How had he kept it up? Was Yuuri really that oblivious, that he hadn’t recognized him at all? The baby fat had been sapped from his face, feminine features straightening out into strong graceful lines. There was a difference, but he should have recognized him. How had he kept up that up, pacing out the truth for _three_ years?

How the hell had Victor thought that it was okay?

The sad thing is, he would want him over for dinner over anyone else. Over Obama, over the Queen, even over Tarou Umebayashi. He would have dinner with Victor, not Ivan, over anyone in the world. After being lied to for so long, he wouldn’t lie to himself. It was the truth, no matter how much he wanted to change it.

Because, if he was completely honest, it was a relief to see him on the doorstep.

“You.” He said, and his heart crunched. “I would have dinner with Victor Nikiforov.” He stressed the words, almost like he couldn’t believe they were coming out of his own mouth. “In a world full of people who all haven’t hurt me the way you’ve hurt me, it's you.” He sighed, shaking his head. “It’s stupid,” he murmured, stare accusing. “Does that make you happy?”

“Do you want me to lie?”

“Not anymore.” He said. Victor grinned.

Of course, that had made him happy. The rain had started to pour down in buckets, cold and wet. Sobering.

“We should go back inside,” he said.

“Aren’t you going to ask me?”

“I know what you’re going to say.”

“Obviously.” Said Victor, something bitter and sweet curling up his lip. Lightning crackled behind him, thunder rolling back a moment later. “It’s you.”

“Well, obviously, Victor.” He nearly smacked himself in the face. “Come on let’s get inside- o-“ He swore the next bolt made his body stand with electricity. Victor stumbled, and they began to run through the rain. He let out a laugh, nearly stumbling.

“Oh shoot-“

“Watch your step, come on-“ he couldn’t even see the house through this. His glasses had clouded over with streaks. Light came from the end of the driveway, shivery and bright.

“I’m totally wearing the wrong shoes for this-“

“Don’t take them off now! Come, grab my hand-“ despite himself, Victor grabbed his, and he nearly pulled the man forwards. He laughed, loud enough for it to bounce through the trees. Yuuri sucked in great, gasping gulps of air, and they sprinted, hands tight as they came in from the rain. “Come on! Run, I swear I’m not going to carry you-“

“You’re too fast-“

“This is not funny, I don’t know why you’re laughing-“

“You’re going to kill me!”

“Watch out for the- oh-“ Victor threw open the door, and ran inside. He was bent in two, half laughing- half trying to catch his breath.

The puppy jumped up at the sight of them, tumbling over his paws. “Oh hey, buddy.” He rubbed through his wet curls. “Doing okay?”

“Is he scared of the lightning?”

“I don’t know… maybe?” The puppy let out a bark, rolling over.

“Oh, there is a lot of water coming in-“

“Yep,” he nodded, giving the puppy a belly rub. “I started fixing the roof today.”

“Fixing,” Victor mumbled.

“Can you shut the door? I don’t want him running outside.”

“Yeah, I closed it. Is he okay?” Victor was peaking over his shoulder.

“Just shaken up.” He cradled the puppy close to his chest, making gentle noises. “It’s okay, I’m here now, it’s fine.” The puppy was already wet. The roof had been giving him trouble, and the tarp wasn’t enough to keep all the water out

Victor passed him a blanket, and he wrapped him up, rubbing the water from him. “You’re okay, buddy, it’s all good…”

“Can I pet him?” Whispered Victor.

“Ah. Sure.” He said. Hesitantly, Victor brushed back his hair. It didn’t take long for him to start making cooing noises. “He likes it when you scratch the top of his head.” He complied, and the puppy closed his eyes.

“He’s really cute.”

“Yeah. He’s a good listener-“ the roof creaked, thunder making the ground quake. The puppy immediately began to whimper. The next second, something groaned. A crash came moments later, something in the forest had been struck.

“This is like some kind of horror movie-“

“It’s just a dead tree,” he still found himself clutching at the blanket between his hands. “But there’s nothing we can do but stay here until morning.” He rubbed the pupper’s back, stroking him gently. “You’re okay, you’re okay…”

They were soaked. Water dripped over his forehead, down the sharpness of his neck. His eyes were relaxed, cheeks flushed. He was grinning at the puppy, blind to himself, and that fact that he had been wearing a white t-shirt.

That Yuuri could see right through.

The cold had made his nipples hard. That happened. It was happening, right now. Something completely biological. In front of his eyes.

“Oh my god,” Victor laughed, mouth twisted into a smirk. Yuuri leaped on the spot. “You are actually undressing me with your eyes.”

Yuuri paled. “I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“I – looked at your shirt!” He spluttered. Were his ears red? Yuuri felt like they were burning.

Victor’s eyes narrowed, full of mirth. “Let it be known that sparks flew-“

“No sparks!” He cried, waving his arms. “No sparks! My eyes just happened to glance at your shirt-“

“-my shirt.”

“-Your shirt, because it is completely see-through-“ he covered his mouth with his hands.

“My nipples.” Finished Ivan- Victor. His eyebrow was pinned, smirk unwavering.

“It’s not my fault that they’re just- out there. For everyone to see.” There was no recovery for this.

“So they are.”

“So you see how that could make someone look down.” Victor’s eyes sparkled.

“Right.” Victor nodded in mock sympathy. “Because it’s like, who’s nipples are those anyway? You’ve got to get a real eyeful-“

“You are joking, but-“

“Are you going to let me borrow a shirt then?”

Yuuri spluttered. This was it. The beginning of the end.

“You planned this, didn’t you.” He muttered.

“Yeah, I made the storm to happen because I’m also a superhero now!” He threw his hands in the air.

He sighed, all the air of the afternoon coming out in one, great, sigh. “Fine,” Yuuri said. “Borrow one of mine.”

“Than-“

“Borrow.” He repeated. “In the top drawer.” Victor clambered up the stairs. Yuuri called out after him.  “And please don’t snoop!”

“Don’t worry!” Said Victor, grinning over the bar. “I left my phone as collateral. Just- toss it out the window if you catch me poking around!”

Yuuri pressed his knuckles to his skull.

This was going to be a mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading my lovelies! If you liked this, please drop a kudos, or a comment if you feel so inclined! Even a little bit can encourage me, and it helps me find out what you guys like or dislike.
> 
> See you all next week! <3


	4. Act 1 - Part 4

He ran his hand over his face, rubbing out the lines of stress. This was self-destructive, he knew that. This was just a silly excuse, the thirty-six questions. The questions would only make one thing clear. There was nothing left of his old life, the life he had shared with his husband Ivan. Ivan – not Victor.

Of course, he had sympathy for the pathological liar who his husband was.

Victor- the separation had made this so much worse. He should’ve broken it off months ago. Filled out the divorce papers that sat gathering dust on his desk. It didn’t help that they were playing this game.

This was a waste of time. He should’ve been working, actually trying to fix the mess he’d made of the house before his parents came back from their trip.

Yuuri nudged a spare plank, and sighed. The puppy stared up at him, almost condescendingly.

“I don’t want to hear it, okay?” He said. The puppy didn’t respond. “You saw how I tried to deflect.” He gestured desperately, as though it would make him more convincing. “He is relentless.”

It didn’t help that Victor was upstairs, pulling on one of _his_ shirts. Wearing one of his shirts.

 _No_ , he thought, turning away. He needed to keep his pride. Each one of the responses would remind him how Victor had lied about everything. Yes, he wished he could touch him, cross the distance between them. Because that was what he had done before. Ivan had always been there - a constant comfort, the single stable force left in his universe as the rest of it collapsed. Yuuri could remember the gentle kisses on his cheeks as he curled himself into the comforter, tears drying as the other man held him together.

As if that would repair his wounds. Like it would patch him up, make him all better. Healed with a kiss, as if the whole thing were a bruised knee.

It would be like putting a band-aid over a gunshot wound.

“Thirty-six questions,” he muttered, popping open a bottle of wine. It was nearly finished, and he drained the liquid out until the glass was only half empty. “I’m barely going to get through four.”

He, Yuuri Katsuki, was screwed.

This whole thing could still go his way. His pride wasn’t completely in the gutter. All he needed to do was focus on the questions. Victor was a liar, and these thirty-six questions would only amplify that.

How many of those questions had he lied about?

No, he needed to reframe this. The thirty-six question was going to settle this. They would talk it out, Yuuri would find out the truth, and then he’d feel better. For once, he’d be able to tell the damn man to leave.

The questions were a lifeline.

Yuuri fumbled with the edge of his sweater, feeling the cotton beneath his fingers. How long did it take to put on a shirt?

Whatever. There was nothing left of his old life with Ivan in New Orleans. His parents would let him stay here as long as he wanted to. If he was honest with himself, Yuuri didn’t want to go back to that house anyway. The walls would be full of memories; photos of men with black and brown hair. Not silver, leaching up from beneath.

No matter how much he wanted it-

“Hey!” Cried Victor, popping out from the stairway.

“Ah- Oh, ah… what’s up?” He said, nervously adjusting his glasses.

“What do you think?” Victor raised a suggestive eyebrow, spinning dramatically.

Yuuri blinked. “About… what?”

“My jersey.” Yuuri’s sweater. “Go Team Russia!” He read, tracing the Russian words along the bottom.

“Yeah! Heh.” He knew what the words meant. He had looked them up on his crummy computer back when he was thirteen, Russian dictionary in hand as he steadily typed the translations into his search bar.

“You’re setting the table?”

“Oh?” he turned to the dining table, swallowing. Barely conscious of it, he had put plates out, glasses too. Chopsticks on his side, and a knife and a fork, placed neatly beside Ivan’s plate – because the Russian’s hands cramped after using them for a while. Actually – he hadn’t known that for the first year. Almost like Ivan was trying to impress him with his awesome chopstick skills.

Victor. Victor was trying to impress him.

“I don’t know why I did that.” He said, words sticky like tar. “That’s… weird.”

“It makes perfect sense to me.” Victor shrugged, walking down the rest of the stairs. “Kind of like a… weird first date!” He laughed a little. “Which is why we should probably have more alcohol on this table.”

There was something they could agree on. “I have sake,” no- Victor’s nose was already wrinkling at the suggestion. “Did you want wine?” America had given him a taste for it.

There was a pause. “You have wine?”

“Well, the cabinet fell a couple nights ago-“ he had almost held a wake for all the wasted booze - “-but the bottom shelf survived.” Victor’s eyes brightened. “I’ll go get some.”

“Do you need help?”

Did he need help getting a bottle of wine? Victor clamped his mouth shut, mirth brimming in the edges of his eyes.

“I should be fine,” he sighed. “Give me a minute. Pup, stay here- I don’t want you stepping in broken glass.” With a softer look, he lifted the puppy, placing him beside Victor, before slipping on his shoes and walking down the stairs into the cellar.

 

*

 

Licking his lip, Victor’s hand paused over the doorway. He was sure it was the right one, there were only three rooms upstairs. The first was a small bathroom, which hadn’t been used this morning. He had popped his head in the doorway. The floor was bone dry, towel clumsily chucked on the floor.

The other, door already open, was a bigger room. Curtains wide open, he could see the last tendrils of orange clinging for life along the trees. It was clean, and open – thick futon folded in a neat pile at the entrance.

No, he knew Yuuri better than that. The number of times he’d found discarded socks – underwear – once even a pair of jeans he thought he’d lost a year back on a trip to Florida – just casually thrown behind couches and beds and various types of furniture – it drove him up the wall.

No, he knew his husband. Victor turned to the last door on the left.

The room was dark, curtains lazily drawn over the windows. Thin silvers of orange cascaded over the clumsily done bed. Across his desk, papers were stacked, lines and lines of kanji that he couldn't understand. For the rest of the clutter, the most illumination came from the laptop, casting a pallid tinge over the room.

His hand drifted over the curtain, then left it. He squeezed his eyes, hard enough for it to throb, then went straight to the draw. The first shirt his fingers hit was the one he pulled on.

Victor wanted to walk down the stairs, back down – but something was tugging his attention. Off the corner of his eyes, stuffed and spilling from the closet were posters.

His face – his own face – grinning up from the glossy paper. And, in spite of the gnawing in his chest, he pulled it loose. Exposing it to the light.

There were hundreds – each from various competitions, and the floor was flooded with his costumes. His heart pounded in his throat, each beat – this was him! That smiling, youthful fifteen-year-old that posed, scattered all over the room now. He touched his skin, ran it across the creaseless posters.

These were old – none of these were still in print. Yet, the edges were starched, clean cut, sharp triangles under his fingertips. And still, there was more! He lifted a smaller object out of the box, turning it in the light.

Limited edition tier five Biellmann figurine.

The door creaked in response – and he gathered them, scrambling and tripping beneath his own feet.  Spotting a sweater, he tugged it over his head. After a moment, he gave the room a quick scan, then walked out.

“Hey!” He waved, grinning hard.

“Ah- Oh, ah… what’s up?” Yuuri’s voice went tighter, eyes flickering at the edge of his shirt.

 _Shit_ \- this must’ve fallen out when he had pulled the posters loose – and then he had been in too much of a rush to check – the red Russian words glared up at him from his stomach – and he-

“What do you think?” Victor raised an eyebrow, showing off the letters.  Oh god, this wasn’t-

Yuuri blinked. “About… what?”

“My jersey.” He could feel the letter boring holes into his skin. “Go Team Russia!” He read, tracing the Russian words along the bottom.

“Yeah… heh.” His lips went white, bitten under teeth. Victor swallowed, watching the hands that paused over the cutlery.

“You’re setting the table?” he offered, breaking the silence.

“I don’t know why I did that.” His expression blanked over. “That’s… weird.”

“It makes perfect sense to me.” Victor shrugged. Routine. Yuuri always set the table at home – and Victor packed the dishwasher. “Kind of like a… weird first date!” Yuuri froze in place. He casually leaned forward, clearing the laughter from his throat. “Which is why we should probably have more alcohol on this table.”

“I have sake.” Sake? He might as well drink gasoline. “Did you want wine?” Yuuri offered.

That was more than a little surprising. “You have wine?” Yuuri had already bought wine? He was here for such a short amount of time – when had he bought wine?

“Well, the cabinet fell a couple nights ago- but the bottom shelf survived. I’ll go get some.”

“Do you need help?”

Stupid question. Offering to help him get wine – what was he thinking -

“I should be fine,” he sighed, turning. The pupper followed, plodding alongside him. “Give me a minute. Pup, stay here- I don’t want you stepping in broken glass.”

He almost protested, but the man slipped on some shoes. Would it be weird to warn him – of course he wouldn’t step down there if it was completely dangerous…

When the steps grew softer, he turned to the puppy, ruffling his ears into soft, perky curls. “Hey puppy,” he whispered, smile burning at his lips. Makkachin – he hoped she would be okay with Chris. She would be terribly lonely though. The puppy blinked up at him, licking at his fingers. His lips tugged further.

“I can’t imagine all the horrible stuff you’ve heard about me.” Two weeks, and he had rushed out to get a puppy. Victor couldn’t blame him – he had gotten Makka in a similar state of mind. Companionship – something humans couldn’t always be relied on to provide.

He placed tea lights out onto the table. The lights ahead were not working too well, and he didn’t want Yuuri to burn down another ancient Grandma scroll. Poor Grandma.

“Well, It’s all true,” he sighed, scooping up the puppy into his arms. As soon as he had done so, the pupper flopped back, tongue lolling as he sprawled back in Victor’s arms. He had to look away – he couldn’t cry because of how cute this damn thing was – and Victor snuggled him closer. His fur smelled like oats. “You don’t seem like the kind of puppy to hold a grudge though.”

Looking over the table, he sighed again.

For the record, he hadn’t expected this. He had thought it would be a harder sell. If he was honest, he hadn’t even expected Yuuri to open the door. Victor almost felt proud of himself, coming up with such a good plan. He was certain it would work. How couldn’t it? If everything – if his who past was out in the open, how couldn’t it work out.

How would he answer? Actually, he hadn’t thought that much about it – he hadn’t even expected Yuuri to take him seriously. A nagging thought in the back of his mind – it kept popping up every couple of seconds. Like if he started talking, lies would start tumbling out again.

Victor guessed, that yes, he was still afraid that he might lie out of habit.

It wasn’t going to be easy. The truth… he didn’t even know how to think about the truth. Living in that fantasy of Ivan – it had been _so_ much easier. Even in his own brain, he couldn’t figure out how to string his thoughts together.

If only he could make Yuuri see how much it dug at him, at how if there was a choice between the truth or sticking knives into his eyes, he would pick the knives _every_ time. Because the truth? Hah, the truth sucked ass.

He clutched the puppy closer, closing his eyes.

He’d treat the thirty-six normally. No, not normally. Truthfully. He wouldn’t lie, and he would speak from the heart. If this was the way Yuuri was going to start talking to him again, then Victor would just have to pick the truth instead of the comforting lie.

Victor would survive this. This would be hard, but if Yuuri could understand – if he could bring what they had together back from the brink – then it would be worth it, a thousand times over. Yuuri’s distance, the cold look in his eyes – it wouldn’t sway him. This was possible.

Why would he have opened that door if it wasn’t?

“Victor-“

“What’s up!” He cried, casually placing an arm on the counter. The puppy wriggled in his arms, so he gently let him out onto the floor.

“Uh,” Yuuri watched him, something warm curling up his lip. He lifted the wine up. “There is a good chance this wine is terrible.”

“I’ll settle for drinkable.”

“No promises. Also, you lit candles?”

Oops.

“I thought it would help set the mood,” he said, the warm of the candle brightening his eyes.

“What’s the _mood_?” Yuuri snorted, but his eyes were focused on the table, brushing over the plates and knives and forks. Like if he touched any of it, it would infect him.

“Hopeful?” He said, like maybe that would help. Like any of it would help – the candles, the table, the empty plates across from each other. Hopeful – it was a terrible way to say it. The papers with those thirty-nine questions – it was a ridiculous idea to think it would help.

Which is why it was the perfect – and only – solution. He’d cling to this, because it might just be stupid enough to work.

They sat down, and cracked open the bottle.

 

*

 

They stumbled home, giggling through the door. “Sorry, my apartment is kind of cramped,” murmured Yuuri, blushing underneath his glasses. He’d been sweating nervously through his shirt, dark marks beneath his arms – but the man didn’t even seem to notice.

He put the bottle between them, right between the two cushions on the couch. Almost naturally, their hands found each other. Ivan’s hands – they were warmer than he expected. Dry, despite the heat trickling up his spine.

“Cozy,” he commented, looking around. “Very modern.”

“I wish – I didn’t choose to be a minimalist.”

“Shh,” Ivan murmured, eyes glimmering. “Take the compliment. I like your apartment.” Those blue eyes – Yuuri felt like he had seen them a million times before. The brunet man didn’t look at all like he fit in this apartment. His presence was too big, too much to contain in this small amount of space. As though in any moment, the walls might burst apart from the pressure.

It wasn’t unpleasant. Each touch – fingers on wrists as Ivan tipped the bottle between his lips – he was peculiarly aware of every movement he made. When he smiled, Yuuri had to look from the corner of his eyes. It was incredibly, _infuriatingly_ , overwhelming.

And Ivan wasn’t going anywhere. They were talking – albeit with alcoholic assistance – and it was okay. He was _laughing_ , talking, and it was almost easy. As the night grew dimmer, they opened the second bottle, stumbling in the kitchen.

And he couldn’t tell why he was laughing anymore. Ivan talked – and Yuuri swore that he would be able to listen to him _forever_. He was achingly familiar, and each touch had him swimming in glee. When he had taken that risk – when he had asked that man with his dog out on a date, he had never expected this. Phichit had been right, he needed to open himself to the possibilities.

He didn't feel scared - not like he had with his other boyfriends. Like the wrong word would break whatever was forming between them. Ivan - Ivan understood. Ivan was listening, actually touching him. Pressing against his walls, but never too far. Never too much.

They sat on the carpet, and Ivan reached between the space. Ivan wanted to get closer – of course he did, the man in front of him was gorgeous, but was this too much.

Would he regret this?

No – Ivan reached between them, hands laced together, and gently met in the middle. Lips, touching. Immediately, Yuuri’s eyes went wide, and he slammed his hands over his red ears.

“Ivan-!”

“Sorry, was that okay?”

Yuuri burst out laughing. His breath tasted like the wine they had been sharing – and he wanted more. Yuuri couldn’t show his face but nodded. “Yes,” he mumbled, a ball of half elation half internal screaming. “Yes, thank you,”

Ivan felt his heart squeeze, and he held his hands closer, placing a kiss on each knuckle.

The next morning, when he woke up with couch indents all over his cheek, he didn’t mind in the slightest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, from this week on, I should be able to do weekly updates.
> 
> See you next week, lovelies! <3


	5. Act 2 - Part 1

It’s autumn. Fall - Phichit would correct him. Not autumn.

 

The summer had seeped out of the earth, the last dregs of green still clung to branches. This was the time of year where Ivan would wear thick fashionable scarfs and go all “basic bitch” for pumpkin spice (his words, not Yuuri’s).

 

It’s autumn.

 

And there are precisely __twenty-three__  emptied boxes of brown hair dye under the sink.

 

Flattened and stuffed behind the pipes out of sight, they had fallen out somewhere in the night. When he reached for a comb, they had spilled out at his feet, onto the wet tiles. Soaking in the moisture. How long had they been there? Mold had eaten at the corners, musty stenched as he pulled the bundle loose.

 

He hadn’t known about the hair dye.

 

Kobicha - his brain helpfully supplies. It’s Kobicha brown.

 

 

*

 

 

Wine. Candles. Puppy. They were all set up for the night ahead of them. In an almost reverent fashion, he placed the papers out on the table between them, face down. As though this were something sacred. “Don’t drink too much,” Victor said, smiling a little. “Stay lucid, dear.”

 

Yuuri let out a sigh, and poured the drink between them, measuring out at eye level. “It’ll take more than this.” Living with a Russian did wonders for alcohol tolerance.

 

“Thanks for letting me use your charger by the way.” Yuuri shrugged.

 

“There’s only one working outlet.”

 

“That’s another thing I’m working on-”

 

“And the toilet screams when you try to flush it.”

 

“Apparently the neighbors can hear it from their house…” His elderly neighbors had stopped over one afternoon in the middle of repairs, asking about the shrill screech. Distinctly banshee-like, apparently.

 

“Other than that,” said Victor, smiling over his glass. “It’s cosy.” With that, he lifted the papers, holding them up to the light. “I have in my hand the printout of the questions - AKA the experimental generation of interpersonal closeness - the document you brought out to our first date in that cafe four years ago.” He announced, presenting the paper with a sweep of the hand. “Ever since, they have held a special significance in our hearts.”

 

“And you faked your answers.” Yuuri muttered. “For the record, I think that’s a pretty big chunk of it.”

 

“Ah.” Victor’s glass clinked on the table. “Some answers.” he responded, gingerly. “For the record. Now, you remember, the whole point of this experiment is to find out if a certain set of questions can make two strangers - or in this case strange persons - super close.”

 

“Right.”

 

“And super horny.”

 

It was Yuuri’s glass now that hit the table - harder than intended. “Victor-!”

 

“I’m reading the document, I swear!”

 

“Not a funny joke to make in my childhood home.” Said Yuuri, lips twisting. Damn it, he was starting to smile. This... felt nice. This felt familiar, a comfortable space they had grown to occupy. The state of mind they inhabited when together.

 

“Don’t worry. I’m a gentleman - and this is a first date!” He could barely hold back the snort, and Victor grin was tinged with barely concealed glee. “I’m not that kind of guy… or am I?”

 

“Nobody knows.”

 

Victor cleared his throat. “Well, since I already asked you the first question, you have to ask me the second.” The list slid towards him, brushing his hand. “I believe the goal is in your post.”

 

“I don’t think that’s how football works?” Yuuri looked up, adjusting his glasses.

 

“Soccer? Football? Hocky? All sports with big guys and sticks.” He shrugged. “Never really been into that.”

 

“Yeah,” murmured Yuuri, watching. Tense shoulders - his body stiffened as Yuuri reached for the paper. He was usually so good at hiding all those little things. Tucking in the rough corners, smoothing out the ripples. Refined - it was almost scary to see him like this.

 

Admittedly, there was a degree of waning satisfaction as well in seeing him so uncomfortable.

 

He picked up the list, and asked the second. “What would constitute a perfect day for you?”

 

“Oh - I remember,” Victor perked up. “I asked you this last time, didn’t I? Well, I guess… Christmas day? Spending the whole day with friends, hot wine and fireworks. Solyanka.”

 

“Mm, Solyanka.” The perfect hangover food. One of the few dishes Yuuri had trusted Victor to make on his own. Hearty and just a little bit sour, a thick soup with mushrooms and olives and lemon. He had even learned to make it himself. They spend a lazy Sunday once, Ivan’s arms slung 'round his waist as Yuuri wracked his brain over measurements.

 

The man had made the recipe so many times, he hadn’t needed to write it down. He knew from the heaviness of the ingredients in his hands, the scent wafting from the boiling brew. Ivan could taste from the end of a spoon, and instinctively seemed to know just how much paprika to add.

 

Yet, tell him to make popcorn the next day and he manages to set the kitchen on fire.

 

How many times had Victor made that one recipe?

 

“You?” Victor asked him, interrupting the memory.

 

It was difficult to pick out anything specific. Anything particularly perfect about any kind of day. It was easy to say something about sunsets and picnics and family - but in all honesty days like that felt overwhelming at times. Too much to process all at once. The best days had been those consisted of Solyanka Sundays, morning sex and nothing on the agenda.

 

“A lazy day in bed.” He concluded. “Solyanka.” They clinked their glasses.

 

“My turn,” Victor said, leaning across the space to read the question. “Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you’re going to say? If so, why- oh I know exactly what you're going to say-”

 

“Yeah, I rehearse everything. Every single phone call I’ve ever had-”

 

“You’re basically script writing - hell, I know what you’re going to say before you call someone because you always practice on me-”

 

“I’m scared of screwing up, that’s all.” He shrugged. “I have no idea what it is about phone calls.”

 

“I only rehearse when I know I’m going to be speaking Japanese.”

 

“Probably for the best,” Yuuri sipped his wine. “Your Japanese could use a little work.” God, more than a little. The knowledge was there, but the execution? Apt choice of vocab. “Next one… Question four: If you were able to live to the age of ninety and retain either the __mind__  or __body__  of a thirty-year-old, which would you choose?”

 

“You remember my answer?” Murmured Victor.

 

“Body. Mine?” Yuuri lifted an eyebrow.

 

“Mind. Same answers that I gave four years ago. Nothing has changed. We’re still a half-sexy couple.”

 

“Haha.” Responded Yuuri, dryly, but there was a smile tucked beneath his teeth.

 

“Question five - when did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?”

 

“Hmm… this afternoon? To this little guy,” Yuuri leaned down, reaching to the puppy gathered at his feet. He gently scratched along the back of his ears, and sighed as the puppy blinked up at him. “He only stayed for half the song.”

 

“I think it was at a karaoke bar with Chris? And, I sang on my way over here.”

 

Yuuri was smiling now, in spite of himself. “You sang?! What did you sing?”

 

“Nope.” Victor said, shaking his head. “ _ _That__ _ _’__ _ _s__ extra credit.”

 

“The absolute minimum. Right.”

 

“It’s really embarrassing, I swear.”

 

“Okay, okay-” Yuuri said, lifting his hands. “You don’t have to tell me. I mean, I just got out of a relationship where honesty wasn’t valued.” He shrugged. “I guess I’m just looking for someone who’s an open book.”

 

Victor gave him one, long, desperate look.

 

“The king and the skater-”

 

“-I knew it-”

 

“It’s nostalgic, and it’s been ages since we watched the reboot.”

 

“I’m surprised,” murmured Yuuri. “That we even ended up watching that movie. You hid __everything__  from me. You weren’t scared it would maybe... make it more obvious?”

 

“Well,” his fingers laced together on the table. “When you suggested it, I was honestly-” Victor stopped himself mid sentence, and if Yuuri hadn’t been paying attention, the pause would have felt natural. As though Victor had practiced this. “I was terrified Yuuri. I thought it was more suspicious if I suddenly didn’t want to go to the theatre with you.” He laughed, a short dry sound.

 

“I didn’t know.” Said Yuuri. The words felt stuck in his throat. He swallowed through the thick of it. “Not until I saw your face and Victor’s. Your face, I mean. Next to each other on a word document.” How had he missed it? How many nights had he stared up at that face from his bed, imagined the feel of his hair? He had watched every routine, every youtube video, and yet the thought hadn’t crossed his mind until he saw them side by side.

 

“Do you still think of me like that?” Victor’s voice was softer now. “As Ivan?” Fingers, Yuuri’s finger twitched on his cutlery. “Or as Victor.”

 

“I-” His voice cracked.

 

He had tried - so hard - to separate the two in his head. They were fundamentally different. Yuuri didn’t know Victor. He knew Ivan. Ivan was his husband. Victor - Victor was a childhood crush. Someone he couldn’t hope to compete with, completely out of his league.

 

Desperate to separate who he was from who he had suddenly become, it was all dissolving in his head. Victor was just as annoying, funny, heartful and heartless as Ivan. Same voice, same quirk of a smile. The cadence of Victor’s voice and that of Ivan’s was that identical smooth tone.

 

Now he was starting to think it all over in his head, re-evaluating every glance, every kiss, each time they had sex - and shit, he didn’t want to think anymore. He wanted it all to disappear.

 

Yuuri loved Ivan. Not Victor.

 

If he closed his eyes, it sounded like his husband across the table.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

If someone hadn’t known Ivan like Yuuri did, they wouldn’t have noticed the recoil. The slow blink of eyes - tight fist around his feelings. A flicker on the edge of his lip, the natural barrier of a smile almost - just before he could control it.

 

That had hurt him.

 

“That’s…” he trailed off, and let out a soft sigh. “That’s understandable. Next question.”

 

“Six: if you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?” Yuuri read.

 

“Duh, flying. And you are still invisibility?”

 

“Yep.” Said Yuuri. “Still the same.”

 

“In fact,” Victor sat up in his chair. “Most of these beginning questions will probably be exactly the same.”

 

“Then,” Yuuri frowned. “Change your answers. You don’t need to lie -” Not that he ever had a reason to in the first place. “I don’t want to hear what Ivan’s answers are -” His voice went softer, but his eyes were glued on those sky-blues. “I want to hear your answers. We set Ivan on fire in a trash can.”

 

“Why should I change my answers?” He asked.

 

“Because at this point, all I know about you is that you’re a liar, and that you were a famous figure skater.”

 

“World Junior and Grand Prix Champion - thanks.” He let out a scoff. “Rude. __And__  you know a lot more about me than you think. You know a million things about me, Yuuri! You know more about me in anyone in the world!”

 

Yuuri couldn’t respond. That… it felt like a plea. Like his words were designed to dig back in, to lodge himself back where he’d once been. He felt a flash, the desire to grit his teeth. To do what he had always done when faced with these feelings-

 

Then, his hands reached forward. No hesitation, swept up in the gesture. The back of his neck prickled, shiver straight down Yuuri’s shoulder blades. His skin was warm, palm just damp. They were closer, world sharpening around the two men.

 

“I was real, when I was with you. In a way I’ve never been able to be around other people. I could be myself - for the first time in my life I could __be__ real.”

 

“But you weren’t,” the hurt pressed, a bruising sensation against his heart. Yuuri could see it - face to face now. Victor’s hand upon his - it felt a safe touchstone after all this separation. The lack of touch, it had been like he was holding his breath for weeks. The feel of his skin, his hands - warm. Like home. “You weren’t __real.__ You stomached a lie for four years, Victor!” His heart squeezed. “Four years-”

 

“That doesn’t mean I’m any different now.” Victor said, brow dipping. “Ivan and I - you’ll find we’re pretty similar. Ivan wasn’t just - a character or game I was playing. I felt safe around you.”

 

“Not a game?”

 

This night, he felt it as though he were torn between two irreconcilable sides. Ivan - he was funny, flirtatious, and absolutely terrible at apologizing. Ivan liked to steal his sweaters, held his wine glass at a cocked angle, and always forgot his retainer in the bathroom sink. Hot tea with a spoonful of raspberry jam, empty cafes, hissing Russian under his breath as Yuuri took him in his mouth.

 

Ivan could tear him open, and stitch him back together. Yuuri was more than capable of the same, just as vicious and clawed. There was a kindness underneath all the bluster, only seen when the superficiality had been pealed away.

 

That was what a marriage was supposed to be, right? Together, through the thick and thin.

 

Safe.

 

“I didn’t feel lost - or scared or confused with you. Everyone - ha, and I mean nearly everyone I’ve met who knew who I was wanted something from me.” His expression took a turn for the bitter, just for a moment, before relaxing back into an easy gentle smile. Catching himself before he let out too much. “I was a commodity. You never treated me like that.”

 

His thumb shifted, just barely running over his skin. Butterfly touches.

 

“I was never scared to be me - even when I was Ivan.” Murmured Victor. “With you, I was real.”

 

“A beautiful sentiment-”

 

“Not a sentiment,” he interrupted, eyes brightening. “It’s a fact.”

 

Yuuri swallowed. And pulled his hand away.

 

It took an inordinate amount of strength to pull his gaze back to the table and lift the paper, handing it to the man across the table. “Ask me the next question.”

 

Victor smiled, and like nothing had transpired between them at all, took the sheet in hand.

**Author's Note:**

> The soundtrack for 36 questions is here! : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BYE2U4ObtnY&index=1&list=PLA47o1Dxe16Juo7ajDbY2zHma5F4wsGs4
> 
> I'll bring out a new chapter every couple of days. Thanks for reading!


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